World View

I was not allowed in. That was the rule. Not written anywhere, but understood very clearly whenever guests arrived. Important voices, serious conversations, careful laughter. And me, apparently, not part of that composition.

So I adapted. Doors were never fully closed. Curtains never perfectly drawn. There was always a gap, and that gap became my world. I remember pressing my face against narrow spaces, one eye doing all the work, trying to understand what made those rooms so special. What exactly was I missing? The answers never came clearly. Just fragments. A sentence here, a laugh there, a gesture that felt important but made no sense.

But that was enough. Because in that small slice of visibility, everything felt exaggerated. Dramatic. Almost theatrical. The adults became characters. The room became a stage. And I, unintentionally, became the most dedicated audience member. But the curiosity never stopped.

If anything, it grew. This sketch comes from that narrow space between being inside and outside. Between being seen and staying hidden. A place where imagination fills in what reality refuses to show.

And honestly, it was far more entertaining from there.